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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917597">Let the Devil In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcassmeadowes/pseuds/dorcassmeadowes'>dorcassmeadowes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Witcher songfics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, So much angst, Songfic, geralt is not good at emotions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:22:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcassmeadowes/pseuds/dorcassmeadowes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt and Ciri spend a night in a tavern in a remote village in the foothills of the mountains. There, a bard plays one of Jaskier's songs - one he wrote after he and Geralt went their separate ways. Geralt doesn't cope well.</p><p>OR: Geralt being an emotional wreck for 13k words when he hears Jaskier compare himself to a monster</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Witcher songfics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>269</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let the Devil In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt and Ciri had been travelling together for a few weeks when they came across a village in the foothills of Kaedwen. Geralt glanced over at the young girl as they walked in the last light of the afternoon - she looked exhausted, and they still had at least two more weeks before they reached the Trail up to Kaer Morhen. Autumn was drawing to a close, and Geralt knew that they didn't have much time to spare; they needed to reach the Trail before the first proper snow, or they'd never reach the keep in time. He knew that they couldn't afford to be slowed down by fatigue. He sighed, turning Roach towards the stables of the local inn.</p><p>"Just for tonight," he reminded Ciri, when her eyes lit up at the prospect of a warm meal and a bed. "We should be far enough North that Nilfgaard won't find us, but we shouldn't take more risks than necessary."</p><p>She nodded enthusiastically in response and set to helping him get Roach settled before they walked into the inn together. As Geralt paid for a room and organised a meal, Ciri settled herself into a table in the corner and eyed the bard at the far end of the inn with open curiosity. She was a young girl with a lap harp balanced across her legs, and while she was nowhere near Jaskier's ability - something deep inside Geralt twinged at the thought of his bard, and he ruthlessly shoved the feeling down - she was pleasant enough, and Ciri always had a soft spot for music. He settled down across the table from her with a sigh, one hand always resting on the knife strapped to his thigh as he eyed the patrons of the tavern warily.</p><p>*</p><p>They were halfway through their meal when Geralt caught what the young bard was saying in the corner.</p><p>"And now another by the master bard, Jaskier. Not one of his earlier ones, mind, but a much more recent work."</p><p>That strange stirring in his chest again. And again, Geralt ignored it. Jaskier was gone. Geralt had driven him off with harsh words and callous insults. He had probably already fallen back into bed with his old flame - the Countess de something-or-other. Crail? Cael? - after fucking his way across the Continent, of course. Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his seat and resigned himself to listening to Jaskier's words about whichever new noble he'd managed to bed recently, and tried to ignore the twang of resentment at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Tell me again about how it hurts,</em></p><p><em>Being awfully loud for an introvert</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>If possible, Geralt's glower got even deeper. So Jaskier had never listened when he'd told him how his constant singing and humming and <em>noise</em> was annoying, and distracting, and off-putting. But whoever it was that the bard had written a song for, they had so easily made Jaskier realise his faults.</p><p>Some small, vindictive part of Geralt whispered <em>good</em>. It's about time the bard accepted his own failings, and he was glad someone was finally holding him accountable.</p><p> </p><p>(A much larger, softer part of Geralt roared at the idea that someone would ever do anything but <em>cherish</em> Jaskier. At the thought that his light - his blinding, unapologetic, <em>fearless</em> light - might be extinguished. Geralt ignored this part, just as he ignored how hypocritical it was for him to feel that way.)</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Get out of my room, smile wiped clean.</em></p><p><em>Isn't it weird to be so mean?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Again, the part of his heart that Jaskier had so long ago claimed, snarled at the thought that anyone would ever hurt the bard. And again, Geralt ignored it. <em>You hurt him first</em>, he reminded himself. You spent years telling him that he wasn't good enough - that his music was unwelcome, that his presence was unwanted, and that his affections were unreturned.</p><p>Geralt had driven him off on a mountain side so long ago now - he had stopped keeping track, for fear that his heart might shatter irreparably if he thought about how long he had been alone after being with the bard for so many years. He had Ciri now, of course. And he loved her (to his own unending shock - he had spent so long <em>avoiding</em> his child surprise that he never considered what would happen if he somehow came to <em>love</em> her). But it wasn't the same. She was a child - <em>his</em> child - and Geralt couldn't expect the same easy camaraderie from her as he had shared with Jaskier. He was lucky so far that Ciri assumed his habit of looking over his shoulder mid conversation was due to paranoia and overprotectiveness. Not, as his traitorous heart reminded him, because he expected to find Jaskier there, a pace behind, with a witty remark and some spontaneous poetry of dubious standard about whatever the Witcher cared to tell him.</p><p> </p><p>Gods, he missed his bard.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I'm guessing that I've grown horns.</em></p><p>
  <em>I guess I'm human no more.</em>
</p><p><em>I can tell I've rotted in your brain.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt frowned again. Thoughtfully, this time (although Jaskier had been the only human who had ever been able to tell the difference). This... didn't sound like a love song any more. Oh, sure, the melody stayed appropriately cheery and the music upbeat - Geralt's sure he wouldn't be able to tell that anything was amiss if he weren't hanging off every word. But this definitely wasn't the sappy serenading Geralt had been expecting. It was... regretful. Slightly bitter. Like Jaskier –</p><p>Like he was singing to a love who had cast him aside. Who had accused him of ruining the life of the one he loved.</p><p>Who had accused him of shovelling shit.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt really wished he was wrong. But when was destiny ever that kind to him?</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh, how easily passion twists</em></p><p><em>You think I'm a crazy bitch.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt flinched slightly at that. He couldn't help it. Behind his eyes, a scene played out before him. It was not something he would ever be able to forget: the expression he had put on Jaskier's face was not one he had ever wanted to see, and it would be burned into his mind for all of the rest of his very long days.</p><p> </p><p>"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."</p><p> </p><p>His words still plagued him, as had Jaskier's reaction. Then, on that fucking mountain, but also all the countless times in the previous decades that Geralt had snapped at him for just trying to <em>help</em>. Jaskier wasn't a Witcher, he didn't have the same hang-ups about emotion that most of them did, and so often he had tried to help and comfort Geralt with the greatest tool at his disposal - his words. And Geralt had always thrown it right back in his face. Acted like Jaskier was being absurd, that nothing was wrong, and that any affection he received from the bard wasn't wanted.</p><p>He really had treated Jaskier like he was crazy, and now he was struggling to breathe through the pain in the chest at the realisation that Jaskier obviously knew that too. The last spark of hope for being reunited with the bard was successfully snuffed out of Geralt's chest. How could Jaskier possibly take him back, when he had treated him so poorly?</p><p>He wouldn't. He <em>shouldn't</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt closed his eyes for a moment and tried to ignore how his heart tore into pieces at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I craft my words to fit your head,</em></p><p><em>'Cause no one listens to the dead.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt's heart clenched yet again at that.</p><p>(Surely it couldn't be healthy for a Witcher's heart to go through so much in such a short space of time? Jaskier would know. He tried to hide it, but Geralt is convinced that he spent a while studying Witcher biology and medicine over the winter one year. At the time, Geralt had brushed it off. Jaskier hadn't said anything, and so it couldn't be that important. Now he wishes he'd said - anything. Thanked him, questioned him, <em>anything</em>. But that was just one more in the long list of times Geralt had fucked up with his bard.)</p><p>He wondered, not for the first time, at how well Jaskier knew him. He always seemed to know the right thing to say. Admittedly, sometimes (most of the time), Geralt didn't want to hear it in the moment. But once he had calmed down from whatever emotional storm had taken him that day, he always found himself pondering Jaskier's words. He had never sugar coated anything, not to Geralt, but he had phrased every harsh truth in somehow just the right way. He really had shaped his words to Geralt's head.</p><p>In fact, pretty much the only time in all their travels that Geralt could remember Jaskier <em>not</em> doing that - his silver tongue failing him - was when Geralt had screamed at him at the top of that godsbedamned mountain. Geralt could still recall the small, hurt "Well, that's not fair," that had escaped Jaskier's throat. Thinking of it now made Geralt want to weep from the pain. The master bard, whose songs were known across the lands, who always managed to talk himself into trouble but also, more often than not, out of it again. And he had given Geralt the power to render him speechless.</p><p>Geralt wishes he hadn't. Wishes that he never held that kind of sway over Jaskier. Beautiful, bright, <em>innocent</em> Jaskier, who had never feared him, but had followed along behind him with a spring in his step and his voice light with song. And Geralt had taken that from him. Even if only briefly. He had taken that joy. He didn't think he would ever forgive himself.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>So maybe I will talk to you</em></p><p><em>The only way I know how to.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt supposes that <em>is</em> what Jaskier is doing now. Loathe though he was to admit it when they were still travelling, Geralt always listened to Jaskier's music. To what was said, and what was left unsaid. Oftentimes Jaskier deliberately sang what he thought Geralt needed to hear. Either in a tavern, slotted between drinking songs and ballads and epics, or softly next to the embers of their fire in a quiet forest. Jaskier was good - brilliant, phenomenal, magnificent - with words. But sometimes, even that wasn't enough. But where words failed, Jaskier's music never did. It truly was often the best way to speak to Geralt, and make him <em>listen</em>.</p><p>And even now, separated by miles and years though they may be, Jaskier's music makes its way to Geralt's ears and he hears.</p><p> </p><p>He will always listen. Even when it breaks his heart to do so.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Mhm, I've said my speech.</em></p><p>
  <em>Mhm, through sharpened teeth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You break the rules and spikes grow from your skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please let the devil in.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Geralt's heart actually stops at that, and it takes a couple of seconds to kick back in and for Geralt to hear past the roaring in his ears. Is that truly how Jaskier thinks Geralt sees him? As a monster?</p><p>Geralt remembered when he met Jaskier. "Devils don't exist," he had told the bard, all those years ago. Jaskier <em>knows</em> that they don't exist - he had always taken what Geralt had told him to heart, ensuring that all of the monsters in his songs were accurate. The actual fights may have been glorified, but the beasts were real enough.</p><p>For Jaskier to compare himself to a monster that didn't exist, while singing about the most infamous slayer of monsters in the North...</p><p>Well. Geralt certainly wasn't dense enough to miss the hidden meaning there. He had killed the bard. Maybe not physically (although who knew? It had been so long since they'd met and Jaskier was only human), but certainly his words had killed Jaskier's spirit.</p><p>And now Jaskier portrayed himself as the monster of this story. Because that had always been Jaskier's way; no matter how many people told him that Geralt was a Witcher, a mutant, a <em>beast</em>, Jaskier had stood by him. Defending him and singing to the world how <em>Geralt of Rivia is a good man</em>. He had never seen Geralt as a monster, and even now he refuses to paint him that way.</p><p>Geralt would laugh if he wasn't falling to pieces.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>A metre apart, we blankly stare;</em></p><p><em>We shout in our heads, "Are you still in there?"</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt remembers the first time he and Jaskier had met again after the Djinn incident. Neither of them had been comfortable, and Jaskier's scent had carried the faintest hint of uncertainty that had <em>never</em> been there before; never towards Geralt.</p><p>Jaskier had left the Witcher at Yennefer's house and gone off to lick his wounds, while Geralt attempted to ignore how shaken he was by the bard's injury by fucking Yennefer - often, and vigorously.</p><p>(It hadn't helped).</p><p>By the time he had left the sorceress's house, he had no idea in which direction Jaskier had gone, and so had simply sighed and set out on the Path once more.</p><p>Three months later, at the edges of Aedirn, they had met up again. And it had been deeply uncomfortable. The distance between them had never felt quite so wide, and Geralt couldn't help but remember Jaskier fighting for breath in his arms. It had been an image which had haunted him for months and, seeing him so quiet, he had wished nothing more than for Jaskier to say something; break this unbearable silence and prove that he was still <em>alive</em>.</p><p>"I'm glad you're okay," Geralt had said, the words fighting their way past the block in his throat. "No lingering effects?"</p><p>It had been one of the few occasions that Geralt had had the courage to actually admit his emotions, albeit still in his own stunted way. And the wave of relief, and joy, and care that had rolled out from Jaskier had almost swept him off his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Well, this ends bad then, we knew it would.</em></p><p><em>So we won't eat our words, 'cause they don't taste good.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>There wouldn't be a happy ending to this, Geralt knew. He had ruined any chance for that so very long ago. Not on the side of a mountain in Cairngorn - that had driven the final nail home, certainly, but he had lost the bard long before that. In a thousand unsaid words and a thousand more insults.</p><p>He had lost his bard, his buttercup, his <em>Jaskier</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But Geralt couldn't help but notice that, for the first time, Jaskier had actually got one thing wrong: Geralt would eat his words. A million times over. He would offer apologies in every language known to man or elf or beast if it meant he could see Jaskier again.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that wasn't enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll be honest I'm not sure I like this. Inspiration for this hit at a really inconvenient time (ten minutes into a two hour physics lesson, to be precise) so by the time I sat down to write it, I had an idea for what I wanted it to be but I'm not sure if it came out how I wanted it to be. Please let me know what you think - I'm still fairly new to this so any feedback is genuinely so helpful.</p><p>This is once again inspired by a dodie song, this time Monster. It's really remarkably upbeat, despite the fact that its lyrics are so not. I figured that's kind of Jaskier in a nutshell - endlessly trying to use his pain and put a positive spin on it for his art.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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